


Reaching No Great Heights

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Kissssing, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:51:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2824073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley falls. Aziraphale doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Heaven was young when the world began. That is to say, the name and the trappings, the decided order and way of things was all very new and uncertain. Duties and titles and overtime were all still being worked out, and the economy was still recovering after the Casting Out of one third of the Host of Heaven.

Angels moved through the heavens in a bit of a daze, shell shocked from the war, a bit hazy around the edges. They'd lost their brothers and sisters, and God had gone off with that new Christ fellow to build some strange rat maze for the mortals.

It was under these circumstances that a certain angel with dark hair and good cheekbones noticed Aziraphale for the first time.

The angel Aziraphale was sitting oddly close to the pearly gates that had been erected recently. It was strange for any angel to have wandered close to them, as most were caught up in the general chaos involving the ordering of angels, and the grieving for their Fallen Brothers, and the widespread confusion about whether they could pray for the Damned or not. And if not, who the Hell could they pray for, since none of the Mortals had been set loose yet?

The dark haired angel approached the blonde, slumped, half-stranger, sitting down beside him, their backs to the gate.

He really did mean to say something. He meant to say something solid and interesting, something about rumors on the new jobs they'd be getting on Earth, or how strange it was to be stretching out his wings now that God had left them alone for ten minutes. Instead he sat in silence and watched the angel beside him from the corner of his eye.

"I don't think I want to go down there."

The angel startled, surprised by his blonde companion's words.

"It looks rather dark, and once he makes man, God wont be touching it again for a very long time. There's something unholy about that."

Aziraphale tugged at his angelic robes, not quite looking at the other angel, who cleared his throat, something that was completely unnecessary and not really even a thing people were known to do yet.

"I 'spose it won't be so bad. God's making a big ball of gas today that's supposed to burn for a rather long time. And there'll be lots of us going down there, they say. That's like having a bit of God there again. We can make it a little holy."

Aziraphale smiled at his words. "Will you go with me? I'm going down in a couple days."

The angel hesitated, examining Aziraphale's features, searching his eyes for something. Something happened then. The moment he looked into those eyes, he felt something fill up inside him and spill into his mouth. It startled him. This feeling of wild love and holy fear turned his soul over and held his tongue down. It took a minute for the angel to speak again.

"I will find you again." Was all he could promise before his weight shifted to his feet and his wings carried him away from the pearly gates.

The angel flew quickly, towards no certain place, all the thoughts in his head jumbled. What he was feeling wasn't usual, wasn't normal. Nothing God had taught him made any sense now, it was all so confusing and incoherent. That angle's eyes were too blue, they were too loving and hopeful, and they made this angel want to do such strange things. Things like reach out and touch, feel his wings, his back, tell him things he'd only ever told to God, tell him that he wanted to spend maybe the next eternity looking into those eyes.

What was he feeling? What was it that an angel felt when God disappeared and his world turned sideways and hazy, when the old black and white chessboard turned into thousands of grey questions, none of them leading him closer to God? Would God forgive him for this? Was this a sin, to think of another angel in this way?

Questions and doubts and fears raged through his mind. What could this mean? Would he Fall now? Could an angel fall with no temptation from the Adversary? Or was he meant to fall anyway? Was it some strange verse in God's plan? Could he ever really pray again, knowing what he did about himself? Fear completely seized him, and in that moment, he started to lose altitude.

The thing about Falling, or Sauntering Vaguely Downwards, as may be the case, is there is never anyone beside you when you do it. The dark haired angel's wings were torn from his back, and without them he crashed heavily to the ground. It's something done entirely alone. No angels or devils or other divine entities hold your hand when you step onto that path. Crowley, as he would now be called, didn't really know what exactly it was that made him Fall, but he did know that it had everything to do with looking into those eyes and falling in a very different way.

He was consumed by the doubt and fear the surrounded that feeling that rose from Aziraphale's haunting azure eyes.

For some it takes seconds to fall. For Crowley, it took a day of Creation.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Crowley reached Hell, preparations had been made specifically for his arrival.

Not many new souls were coming down, just a few Fallen Angels, and they were trickling in now, nothing like the numbers on the days soon following the Rebellion and the beginning of the War in Heaven. Hell was hungry.

Hell had newly spawned Hellhounds, still learning the best ways to tear flesh from bone, soul from grace, fallen angel from God. They made more mistakes back then, which made the whole process slower, drawn out. The pain, and the sick anticipation of it was still new, still being perfected.

Crowley was one of the first souls to experience castration, evisceration, and frostbite at the same time. He was also the first Fallen Angel to be tied to the wall and subjected to Hastur's newest idea for punishment, something that hadn't even been invented on Earth yet. The thing that won Hastur his title and power and prestige all in ten minutes, and all it took was the shedding of some clothes and forcing himself on another being.

"We're going to try something new today." The demon didn't bother to introduce himself. Crowley didn't register him, not with the pain still bleeding through him from his last encounter with a group of three demons seeking to amuse themselves with how far Crowley's intestines could be removed from his body before he would lose consciousness.

"Now I know you're still new to this, so you haven't begged Satan yet, but I'm sure we'll get around to that tomorrow."

Crowley is vaguely aware that he's been moved, maybe Miracled onto the wall. As usual, there are stakes placed between his shattered carpal bones. What's new is the something pressing into his back, and the heat between his legs, and then the  _pain_. In more planes than he's known possible.

There's laughter, crude hands, desperate sounds, half-demonic screams of pain, and the usual blood that marks all of Hell's solid work. And then those words.

"After this, you'll learn to call me God."

* * *

 

The reason Crowley appeared in the garden of Eden as a snake was that his true form was too shattered to be making any appearances on Earth for at least a century. Hell hadn't perfected its techniques, and didn't see ahead far enough to recognize they'd be needing him to make an appearance as a representative so soon. As it was, he was given field work for about a week, with the understanding that he would convince the humans to eat some fruit, and then come back downstairs to resume his punishment.

Thus it was that Crowley and Aziraphale met for the second time, and Aziraphale, frightened and alone, didn't recognize the fallen angel.

Crowley moved slowly through the growing fiend of grass, making his way through the Garden. It took quite some time to move his snake form from end to end of the Garden, counting the angels, potentially dangerous animals, and locating the humans. He had already tempted Eve with the fruit when he had noticed Aziraphale standing at the gates that led to the rest of the Earth.

Aziraphale watched the snake moving towards him, curious. He hadn't seen one quite so long before, and never had he seen an animal in the garden with eyes that seemed so strangely familiar and sickening at once. He bent down towards it, lowering his sword.

"What are you doing in the garden, demon?"

"I promisssed I would find you again." Crowley looked up at him, praying to Go- to Sata- to Someone that the Angel might recognize the promise, if nothing else.

Aziraphale's expression twisted. He didn't trust the demon in snakeskin.

"Get thee hence, before I have to smite thee, demon." He looked away, confused and shocked at what seemed to have happened to the once-angel.

"Not a demon, I'm a fallen angel." Crowley insisted, slithering closer. "What issss your name, angel?"

The angel refused to look at him. "Aziraphale." He murmured.

"Aziraphale. Name'ss Crowley." The snake raised himself up, closer to the immortal.

The angel took a step back, but his eyes focused on the snake, meeting his yellow, demonic eyes. He swallowed down his revulsion for a moment, and tried on a smile.


	3. Chapter 3

A week had passed since the Apocalypse-that-wasn't. Crowley sat on the roof of Aziraphale's apartment, feet hanging over the edge, the soft blonde angel beside him.

"I suppose none of this turned out quite so bad." Aziraphale thought aloud, setting his empty mug on the ledge.

"The rest of our lives, I mean."

Crowley stared at the sky, the clouds turning colors, moving further out toward the lowering sun.

"No, not so bad, Angel." In the past week, he'd managed to corrupt a number of Policeman, allowing a few prostitution rings and drug distributors to go undisturbed. Satanist numbers had seen quite a spike in numbers following the strange disturbance caused by the Apocalypse-that-wasn't. Then again, Christmas-and-Easter-only-Christians had surged back into the churches as well. You win some, you lose some.

The demon turned, seeing Aziraphale open his mouth, then shut it again quickly. Crowley raised a brow, peering over his sunglasses.

"What?"

"Nothing, I," Aziraphale frowned slightly.

Crowley breathed in, something close to a hiss. There weren't many subjects the angel shied away from speaking of.

"You don't like me to speak of it, but. I can't help but ask."

Aziraphale rubbed at his eye, glancing at Crowley, then back down at his knees.

"What made you fall?"

Crowley moved to get to his feet, but Aziraphale grabbed his arm too quickly, stopping him.

"Please, dear."

"Ziraph, you know I can't tolerate it when you try to do this. Angels can't make demons repent."

"You've tried to tempt me since the day you met me."

"That's different. There's tempting and thwarting, but then there's damning and saving. You can't just-"

Crowley pulled away again, but Aziraphale pulled him down beside him.

"Please. I try not to ask, but every thousand years or so I can't help it." His eyes were serious, focused on Crowley's yellow eyes hiding behind his glasses.

Crowley flicked his tongue, uncertain, uncomfortable. After a moment, he nodded. Took his sunglasses off and placed them beside Aziraphale's empty mug. He settled back down beside Aziraphale, perched further out on the ledge now.

He pressed his palms to the cement and looked up at the sky.

"I Fell for an angel." Crowley murmured. He seemed far away, caught up in a distant memory.

Aziraphale didn't react, waiting instead for the demon to continue. He moved his hand from Crowley's arm to his wrist, wanting to show support somehow.

"I was never sure what exactly it was, if my love for him was somehow seen as perverse, or if it was the doubts he raised in me- I don't know why I fell, angel." Crowley bent his head, eyes shut. Aziraphale stiffened, worried. He'd never seen the demon quiet and low, voicing his deepest failings.

"I spent years trying to understand, what I did to deserve damnation, to deserve losing everything I had up there. But over time, I realized I'd never get my answer." The demon looked over, noticing Aziraphale's hand on his.

"Who was he?"

"I can't tell you. If anyone was to find- if he was to find out- I know he doesn't return my feelings. And if he did, it'd make things worse for the both of us. He could fall, or Heaven or Hell could tear us apart. It's better this way."

Aziraphale looked him in the eye. "How do you know he doesn't feel the same?"

Something flashed in Crowley's eyes, and he turned his head away. "Stop it, angel."

Silence fell between them. After some time, Crowley pulled his hand away and stepped away from the ledge, away from the angel.


	4. Chapter 4

Days passed. Aziraphale was sure that Crowley was avoiding him. On the rare occasions they did meet, the demon constantly kept his eyes behind the shades, snarling in return to anything said to him.

Aziraphale finally snapped a week later, in his bookshop.

"You've been hiding from me." He stood between the shelves, arms crossed, emanating righteous anger.

Crowley's lips twitched, folding his arms defensively, unconsciously mirroring the angel.

"What makesss you say that? Been feeling lonely? Not got enough blessssed friends? Maybe because no one wantss to see your fuc-"

Aziraphale lunged forward, pushing Crowley up against the bookshelf, cutting off the vulgar words in his throat.

"This isn't you. You wouldn't say that to me."

Crowley laughed at the angel, something unholy and sick in the sounds coming from him.

"Think you're going to save me, angel? Think you could ever be friendss with a demon?" Crowley pushed back, but Aziraphale held him firmly against the shelf. The tension between them was high, the dynamic between them somehow stranger than ever before.

Something in Aziraphale snapped. Then his lips fell to the demon's.

For a split second, nothing changed. Then the angel  _moved_. His hands clutched at Crowley's hip, at his neck, tongue tasting the inside of the demon's mouth. Their bodies were pressed tight together, but the thing was, Crowley wasn't touching him back.

It lasted for twenty seconds, and then Crowley shoved him back, just an inch, just enough to turn his head away. His sunglasses had fallen to the ground, crisp shirt now rumpled, one button undone. "Stop." He whispered.

"I know it was me." Aziraphale moved closer, mouth almost on the demon's ear. "I know it was me who you Fell for."

Crowley weakened visibly, shutting his eyes. "How long have you-" He swallowed back the question, leaning into the angel, his warmth.

Aziraphale's hands were touching him, but the motions seemed disconnected, surreal, out of place. His fingers fumbled in Crowley's hair, thumb sliding against the demon's stomach. There was something completely unangelic and entirely primitive coming between them.

"We can't, be this. God, I don't know what,"

"Shh." The angel moved in closer, and this time Crowley met him, their lips moving against each other, slowly now.


End file.
